


Blind Date

by thescienceofsherlolly



Series: Sherlollicious [16]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blind Date, F/M, First Meetings, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Molly's bad fashion sense. gotta love her, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, sort of. he's trying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 16:48:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8021527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescienceofsherlolly/pseuds/thescienceofsherlolly
Summary: “I’m not actually the person you were set up on a blind date with but I was eating alone and you asked if I was someone else and wow you’re cute so of course I said yes and now you think my name is something it isn't.”





	Blind Date

**Author's Note:**

> a prompt fill for a wonderful anon over on planet tumblr :)

“So, what’s his name?” Mary Morstan asked, her head buried in her friend’s wardrobe in search of an outfit that made the aforementioned friend look as though she was actually meeting a human male for a date.

“Kevin Nichols,” Molly Hooper answered after a quick glance at her phone. She shoved aside some of the many thick pathology tomes and medical textbooks from her bed and sat down, watching Mary, “I’m meeting him at a little Italian place tonight. Angelo’s.”

“Nice,” Mary smiled, pulling out a t-shirt to examine. A moment later, it was shoved back in with a grimace, “do you have anything that doesn’t have cats on?”

Molly frowned, “I’ve been a little too busy studying for my future to worry about buying something to impress some bloke, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright…” Mary shrugged, rolling her eyes slightly. She delved back into the wardrobe with determination, her voice muffled as she asked, “so, how are you going to recognise ‘some bloke’?”

Molly fumbled for her phone, skimming through the many texts her bind date had sent her, “erm, well, he says he has dark curly hair and blue eyes. He’ll be sitting in front of the window with his phone on the table.”

A moment’s silence followed in which Mary expected her friend to continue. When she didn’t, the blonde’s head emerged from the pile of clothes to look at the trainee pathologist.

“And?”

“He says he’s very handsome,” Molly replied simply as though it was an answer to all further questions. Mary snorted.

“They all say that, sweetie,” she extracted a simple deep blue [dress](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fhouseoffraser.scene7.com%2Fis%2Fimage%2FHOF%2FI_5051048526699_50_20160126%3Fsize%3D220%2C293%26wid%3D220%26hei%3D293%26qlt%3D80%26ResMode%3Dsharp2%26op_sharpen%3D1&t=OWZmNzgwN2IxMzYzNmNmNjA2Y2NlMTliZGNiMjhkYjVmNDY3NjA2YixWRVRIaGVncQ%3D%3D) topped with lace and rested above the knees. It was old but it would suffice. She handed the dress to Molly before diving back inside for a pair of heels, “what have you two been talking about?”

“Err…”

In truth, she and Kevin hadn’t exchanged many words; she’d received a message on her social media from Kevin expressing his admiration for her work and if she was willing to meet him. A combination of curiosity and willingness to escape work for an evening had her agreeing. At least it would make an interesting story in the papers if he turned out to be a serial killer. For Mary’s benefit, she thought it best to lie.

“You know, we just got talking.”

Mary emerged a moment later with an even older yet barely worn pair of blue [heels](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.fionasweddingphotography.co.uk%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2015%2F10%2FCharlotte-Mills-Bridal-Belle-Blue-shoes.jpg&t=NDY5ZDQyOGI3NzNlOWNkYzc5MGVhNjVjMjk2NmJmMTNiMjI1YzQ0OSxWRVRIaGVncQ%3D%3D) decorated with hearts. She raised an eyebrow, “are you sure about this?”

“Yes,” Molly said sincerely, smiling as she took the shoes, “I’ve been working really hard…I’m looking forward to letting my hair down.”

“Yeah, well…make sure that’s all you ‘let down’.”

Molly rolled her eyes, disappearing into the bathroom, “you’re one to talk.”

“That was one time,” Mary huffed, following after the nuisance with a hairbrush.

* * *

He’d received the irritatingly vague anonymous tip-off an hour ago, a dealer operating in the alleys in the quieter London areas and tonight he was to appear at the Italian he frequented. Angelo’s. Sherlock Holmes sat in front of the window, his phone propped on the table ready to receive any information on the addict. He was getting desperate. His brother, Mycroft, had done an annoyingly superb job in keeping unsatisfactory clients far away from Baker Street and he hadn’t had a fix in almost a week. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t _tried_. Cigarettes weren’t strong enough, cases were too simple and Mrs. Hudson’s inane chatter and horrendous cooking bored the hell out of him.

He drummed his fingers impatiently on the table, glancing down at the time and finding his phone blank of fresh texts. Sherlock looked up to the window, his hope rising when he spotted a youth hovering in front of one of the alleyways, smoking and chatting on his phone.

“Kevin?”

Sherlock looked around at the voice, more than a little angered at being disturbed. The short woman beside him, dressed as a waterfall it seemed, was smiling nervously at him as she tucked a strand of her long brown hair behind her ear. For a moment, he forgot about his imminent fix and shook his head.

“Excuse me?”

“Kevin Nichols? I’m Molly Hooper…from the phone…”

The detective’s eyes moved rapidly from his phone, to the waiting druggie and finally to the blue lady. Sherlock deduced from her appearance that she didn’t work for Angelo. She was clearly an intellect. He didn’t remember a word she’d said but he knew that he wasn’t who she was looking for.

“Okayyy…”

Oh, and she was awkward. Bless her. “Um, well…may I sit down?”

Sherlock must have nodded although he didn’t remember doing for the woman sat opposite him and shrugged off her coat; as she turned to secure the – oh, look at that, _blue_ – outerwear to the back of her chair, the detective’s jaw dropped open slightly. This woman had quite the neck, long and graceful and attached to a perfectly lovely pair of shoulders. She was speaking but he wasn’t listening, too busy concentrating on clearing his thoughts. Her smile wasn’t helping. He couldn’t think…and it was _unbearable_ …

“Will you excuse me for a moment?”

Before his companion could utter another word, Sherlock had leapt to his feet and ran to the back of the restaurant towards the bathrooms. He slipped out the exit used for deliveries and circled the restaurant, colliding straight into the youth he’d been seeking. He scooped up the small bag he’d caused the man to drop and, instead of handing it over, discreetly exchanged several notes and left him with an apology. To an outsider, an easily-solved mistake. To Sherlock, his evening had suddenly become much more interesting.

* * *

Molly looked up, biting her lip at the empty seat opposite. She hadn’t expected him to stay…Kevin had been very modest indeed when describing his looks. Tall, dark and handsome to the extreme and Molly had felt very lucky that he’d sought her out. Maybe she looked better on camera than in person? Or the excessive amount of blue had put him off. Blues, yellows, pinks and greens were all she had.

“Sorry about that,” Sherlock suddenly appeared, slipping into his seat. Molly blinked at the unbelievable sight, her mouth dropping open. He frowned, “what did you say your name was?”

“M-Molly…”

He picked up a menu, “right…and what’s mine?”

Molly was certain she’d never been so confused in her entire life. “Um, Kevin.”

“The risotto here is good,” he commented, handing her the menu he’d barely looked over, “I’m not much of an eater. You’re a pathologist?”

“Oh, yeah…how did you know that?” Molly asked in astonishment, temporarily forgetting her confusion. He merely waved a hand.

“Long story. Shall we?” He gestured over at the waiters and Molly nodded, her heart fluttering at the smile he gave her. Already she could feel herself falling for him.

* * *

An hour or so later, filled with the finest Italian food and wine, Molly stumbled into the street clutching the deliciously strong arm of her blind date. The two of them had discussed everything from family to murders, discovering their careers fitted nicely together. She’d even managed to get him to nibble at some bread.

“Thank you for a wonderful evening…” Molly smiled up, way up, at her new…love, she hoped. Sherlock nodded, typing on his phone dramatically and Molly frowned, “um, are we going to see each other again?”

“Oh, I’m sure of it,” was all he said, barely looking up from his phone. Molly nodded, wondering if she’d said anything to upset him. She’d laughed a lot, spilt wine down herself…had that put him off?

“Sherlock!” The man beside her turned back to the restaurant and Molly looked around, also. The owner of the restaurant held out a blue scarf, and was shaking his head, “you forgot your scarf.”0

“Ah,” her companion took the scarf and wound it around his nice neck, “thank you, Angelo.”

The owner nodded and left them alone. Molly didn’t quite know what to say whilst Kevin- _Sherlock_ just looked amused. She took a step back and folded her arms, “h-he called you Sherlock.”

“Yes.”

Her eyes widened, a blush creeping onto her cheeks, “I’ve been calling you Kevin all night!”

He couldn’t help but chuckle, “yes. Why exactly?”

“I thought you were my blind date!” Molly answered incredulously, “why else would I call you by someone else’s name?”

“Mmm,” was all he said. As the two of them stood waiting for the taxi he’d summoned for, a thought suddenly struck Molly and she didn’t want the night to end without it being said.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Hmm?”

“You left! Why…why did you come back?”

Sherlock glanced at her; she was biting into her lip, shuffling on her feet. They were uncomfortable. Not surprising, those shoes were at least three years old. She clearly didn’t go shopping very often. He smirked as he thought about her at home, lounging about in tatty old clothes and dancing to the latest pop song…her hair swinging about freely. He sighed.

“Because I wanted to.”

* * *

In his office across London, Mycroft Holmes rolled his eyes at the images on the CCTV screen in front of him. His baby brother, the boy he’d played with and grew up with broke his heart in two as he ran across the street, scoring drugs from the man that had managed to escape the notice of the British Government. He’d failed Sherlock yet again.

Now, though, he observed his brother climbing into a taxi cab with the young woman from the restaurant and smiled as he noticed the bag of powder his brother had earlier bought had been deposited down the drain on his way into the vehicle.

“They appear to be having a good time, sir.”

Mycroft only acknowledged his PA, Anthea, with the slightest of nods, “mmm. Job well done, I think.”

Anthea, rarely seen without her phone, looked up from the device and arched an eyebrow, “Kevin Nichols, sir?”

The British Government did nothing more than shrug, “my tailor.”


End file.
